She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently. . . The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Good-bye, Anna!” Annabel sprang up. We are not animals.
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