The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. Them young prigs is all alike. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. Yes. . Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. You will forgive my remarking, Anna, that I consider there is a great change in your manner towards me and your general deportment since our marriage. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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