She had felt deserving of the punishment, as he had been mainly concerned that she would be killed by accidentally falling into the pit, but it was a terrible insult. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. . She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. I cannot live without you, Anna. Then blackness.
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