The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish.
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