Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings. “Think how dumb we find ourselves and stifled! I know we seem to have a sort of freedom. \" Shari drawled as she looked up from her dissected sausage. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. They shouted to her from the wings to come off.
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