It was enough. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. It drives one mad at times. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart.
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