"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam. Forgive me. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. That is why I called myself Anna. E. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel.
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