All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. And I want you for myself—for my wife. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. . ’ Tears glistened in her eyes.
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