“I did,” Anna answered. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. It was an impulse. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. She looked around her. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. We two. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his. White assured her.
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