She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. But ——” A look checked him. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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