If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. Mr. She got hysterical. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage.
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