“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. ” Anna laughed, gave in and with deft fingers created order out of chaos. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. We find out no man will treat a woman fairly as man to man—no man. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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