And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. ” She noted that as a good saying, and it germinated and spread tentacles of explanation through her brain. \"Let's get out of here. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. . “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. She cried and sobbed in fits. ’ ‘You were quite as bad to me as I was to you,’ Gerald protested mildly, sitting down beside her. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. ‘That is my mother. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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