“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. ‘Oh, peste. No doubt that was due to his helplessness. I want to get away—to go to London. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read.
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