“Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. ” She shook her head deliberately, hopelessly. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can.
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