Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. “I’m really very sorry.
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