She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. At last she was roused. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. Anna sent her away. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind.
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