“I will be off,” she declared. But after that it was easy. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She gave her a wink when John had turned to ask Mark if Lucy could ride home with them. “Mere sensuality. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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