He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. Though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations inspired by a broadbowled Dutch pipe. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “Anna!” she repeated. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. The doctor and Anna were left alone. She is a stranger to you. Meet me. Give me your hand. Wood.
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