Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. When at first she had realized that he 206 had conducted a sexual affair with a local well-known Florentine courtesan she called him out, accusing him of exposing her to an array of diseases. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. Best assured of that. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. It was a purse.
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