She’s got a great imagination. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. His literary instincts began to stir. Die, indeed! We’re going to do work; we’re going to unfold about each other; we’re going to have children. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. It was the gallows. Cahill gave me a hall pass.
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