‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. I am no exception. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. She is setting out for Hartford, Connecticut.
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