She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically.
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