Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. They were true noblemen, men of the court. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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