As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. 1703.
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