” “In his present mood,” Anna remarked, “he would follow me. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. 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. She is the image of what I was like, and she has a better voice. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. ’ It took several frustrating moments, working at the protrusions of the carving down the side of the bookshelves, tugging at leaves, pushing at flowers.
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