Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Best assured of that. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. So I am already no longer the girl you knew at Morningside Park. I wanted the magic of love. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. C. I hope we may never find her again.
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