” “You mean to say,” Anna said slowly, “that you are going to leave your husband?” “Yes. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. . Her fingers rested upon his. “None, I thank you,” he answered. Recurrently she heard: "I don't know; I really don't know. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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