She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. She could feel her face turning beet red. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. ‘You are not at all stupid. ” Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair.
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