I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. Brendon,” Anna said. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. He pulled away. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers.
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