The door to the room in question was closed. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. “I want to find an address. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. My name is Annabel, not Anna.
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