“How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. "Choose between good and evil;— between him and me. I don’t want you to talk to me now. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. 275 “Yes!” She answered, feeling joy and fear well in her chest. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. They were drenched with water and suds. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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