“With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. You have nothing more to fear from Wild.
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