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Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. You don’t want to look like Bozo.
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