’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. She almost sprang to her feet. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid.
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