Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. . Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere.
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