She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. “Still, of course, it is possible. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. The pistol, it was not loaded.
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