You have neither reason nor logic. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. .
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