Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. . ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. Come along home, Ruth. And they’ll shut the gates presently. See paragraph 1.
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