I'll see. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph.
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