"She has no secrets from me. Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. It heralded you, promised you. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred.
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