“I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last. The ladder was now within reach. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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