The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. Luckily, Mrs. . I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. come. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. ” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby.
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