‘Ah, the tragedy. The key is in my trousers. ’” Anna made no remark. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “You have even her name. Always. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. Can you imagine how dreadful it must be for them? Most of them arrive here almost penniless. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped.
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