I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. But one must disguise oneself. She has already forgotten it. ” The irrepressible smile curved Anna’s lips. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ' That has always haunted me. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors.
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