” Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of her chair. ’ She was too distressed to bear this. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. ” And she pressed her lips together in white resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion for conflict and selfsacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the beginning of things. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone.
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