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C. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Both started. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. To call yourself ‘Alcide’! Your hair, your gestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?” “You must not forget,” Anna said calmly, “that it is necessary for me also—to live. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you.
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