Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. ‘All right, Trodger. You see, it is that I begin to like you, even that you are of this disposition extremely interfering. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. "I have nothing to forgive. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent.
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