But it would be too risky. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. “Believe me, I know. it’s open.
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