“Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. His assistance came too late. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. A fever of shame ran through her being. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. It’s no good. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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