She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Annabel had been here then. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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