It slipped out—as did that “she”. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. ” “A—what?” Anna asked. ” “That’s horrible!” He gasped. " "He couldn't help it, Ruth. You're easy to please. Only she hadn’t. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. I have never spoken of these things to any human being. ” “Why?” asked Hetty.
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