It was the fear that had been haunting her. She did not know how white she had turned. 该作者的其它作品!

“I fancy that’s the idea,” said Joan. “What will you do if you fail? Go back to China?” “I expect that was it,” Joan confessed. “It interferes with our reason at times.”

It was a frightened face that looked at her out of the glass, as she stood before it taking off her hat. “I wish I had your pen,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. “I’m all right at talking; but I want to get at the others: the men and women who never come, thinking it has nothing to do with them. I’m shy and awkward when I try to write. There seems a barrier in front of me. You break through it. One hears your voice. Tell me,” he said, “are you getting your way? Do they answer you?” He seemed to be more interested in looking at her when he thought she was not noticing. That little faint vague fear came back to her and stayed with her, but brought no quickening of her pulse. It was a fear of something ugly. She had the feeling they were both acting, that everything depended upon their not forgetting their parts. In handing things to one another, they were both of them so careful that their hands should not meet and touch.