How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She covered herself with her arms.
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