‘She wants me to marry her. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. She could not feel her own body. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. “Stop!” He ran towards her. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question.
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