Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. He moaned. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. “Just do it. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. ’ He grimaced.
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