He kissed her deeply and hungrily. She could not help herself. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. And no ill-chances. “Put her in the trunk. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just. It was red and chapped. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. Why, is the question I would like answered. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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