She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. Will you be a faithful and honest wife? Will you do your duty by him, and forget all your past follies? Unless, Annabel, you can——” “Oh, I will pledge you my word,” Annabel cried passionately, “my solemn word. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head.
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