"At least I'll try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. She would have to leave very soon. 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. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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