Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. That's the way it goes. Escape was now impossible. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Lucy's ears were singing. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed.
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