“So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. "Did you write it?" "No. He offered me at once an engagement. " "And what is that?" "I have relatives not far from Hartford. We are in love. I thought that he was dead. . She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver.
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