And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures. “Steady on!” he cried. ” “Thank you,” Anna answered coldly. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking.
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