"But I don't understand," she said. "How did--you--get these!"
"Sit down, and I'll tell you," replied Cara.
Ann sat down obediently, feeling as though she were living and moving in
a dream. Once she glanced almost apprehensively towards the small heap of
bills on the table. Yes, they were still there. Those narrow strips of
paper which spelt for Tony a fresh chance in life and for herself release
from any future domination of Brett Forrester's. Not yet could she realise
the full wonder and joy of it--all the splendour of life and love which
their mere presence there gave back to her. For the moment she was only
conscious of an extraordinary calm--like the quiescence which succeeds
relief from physical agony, when the senses, dulled by suffering, are for
a short space contented with the mere absence of actual pain.
At first she fixed her eyes almost unseeingly on Cara, as the latter began
to recount the events of the previous evening, but swiftly a look of
attention dawned in them. The realities of life were coming back to her,
and by the time Cara had finished her story--beginning with the sending of
the telegram in Brett's name and ending with the final surrender of the
notes of hand--she had grasped the significance of what had happened.
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