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Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. Her anger died and she eyed him. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. She slid the dress off, naked underneath. . But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged.

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