Tell me how are you amusing yourself?” Anna laughed. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. My death, probably. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. You can do it, if you will.
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