“Don’t!” she begged. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She spotted her opportunity. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. She was no longer there. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet.
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