“Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. Sheppard. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again.
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