Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Something seemed awry. ” Chapter X THE TRAGEDY OF AN APPETITE Anna, notwithstanding her quiet clothes, a figure marvellously out of accord with her surroundings, sat before a small marble-topped table at a crowded A. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in.
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