” Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. But this is not sufficient. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.
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