"The lash cuts to the bone. But send me word. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. Then he turned to Anna. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust.
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