” A momentary bitterness crept into Anna’s tone. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. When I've placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be contented. I think that I have become a drug drinker.
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