Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. “It was a phase,” she said. She elected to go to prison. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. His face clouded with anger. That is not reasonable. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked.
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