Anna sprang lightly away across the street. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain.
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