’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. The theme was a masquerade. Little by little, she stopped hating him. ” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold.
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