She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. “I really had not thought about it at all,” Anna answered smiling. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
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