If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you may begin to realize what it all means for us. I called myself Anna. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father. He knocked at the door. But it is the truth.
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