I don't believe his name is Taber. ” He read it in winter in the evening after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin slippers across the fender. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement.
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