“It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. But they been good to me, they have, sir. "Where are you going?" she asked. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind.
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