Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. You, Anna, are one of them.
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