216 “Please, get dressed. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “Please come home. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. Not a breath was drawn. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. She wanted to live.
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