“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. For a long time neither spoke again. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. They clapped wildly afterward. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. She returned to these latter, and at the back of her mind, as she looked them over again, was a very distinct resolve to quote them after the manner of Miss Garvice at the very first opportunity. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively.
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