Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna said, “directly my maid answers the bell— unless you choose to go before. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. I want to get away. But a woman’s life is all chance. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. . She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares.
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