"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ” Anna was a little puzzled, but she only laughed. “Very well,” he said. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. I am shockingly poor. He blurted, “I was just telling Lucy that I have finished an important work. Wood, contemptuously. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it.
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