She could feel her face turning beet red. . ’ ‘But Gérard knows. It’s no good. “I’m mostly self-taught. I don’t wish to marry you at all. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Winifred instantly picked it up. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. “Certainly. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. You cannot arrest yourself. "But never mind who, or what I am. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way.
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