The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. ” He started back as though he had been shot. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Shouldn't you be getting home?\" \"It's not far. E. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully.
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