Anger Read Free Page A

silenced. But Anna came back to the subject when the dessert was being passed.
    â€œScrumptious,” she said, serving herself to a large portion of a fluffy whipped cream and strawberry and chocolate creation. And then she asked Mr. Thornton to tell her what Ned Fraser was really like.
    â€œHe’s reserved … people in his position can’t afford not to be. A good fellow, though. We belong to the same club. He’s affable enough, but he knows damn well who he is even though you, dear lady, do not. Anyone in the banking community would give a lot to know what goes on in that head.”
    â€œIs there nothing, then, but financial reports in that head?” Anna asked. She had in the last few moments withdrawn. She realized that she had been a little intrigued by Ned Fraser after all. But now she admonished herself to keep him at a distance. We live in different worlds, too different. We could never really be friends. For Anna, for all her temperament, for all her narcissism, was a realist, and had few illusions. She admired honesty in others and tried to be honest with herself.
    â€œThere must be something else if Ned sends you flowers,” Mr. Thornton teased. “Perhaps you had better cultivate him and discover for yourself.”
    â€œNo,” Anna said, “I don’t like the rich,” and swallowed the last of her wine.
    Mr. Thornton was clearly startled, for people usually don’t say such things in the company they were in. He laughed, “Why not?”
    â€œThey take so much for granted, for one thing. And somehow or other they cannot escape arrogance … at least in my humble opinion.”
    â€œAren’t we all arrogant about one thing or another? You appear to be quite arrogant in taking Ned Fraser’s flowers for granted.”
    â€œTouché!” And for the first time Anna gave Mr. Thornton her full attention. “But … but, you see, I have earned the applause, and the consideration, earned it a rather hard way. The flowers are thanks for something given.”
    â€œYou don’t see them then as asking for your attention … as hoping for a response?” Anna shook her head. She felt herself blushing. As usual she had gone too far, been too blunt, and aroused antagonism.
    Mr. Thornton took in this embarassment. “As for Ned, I can tell you he works frightfully hard.”
    â€œI don’t doubt that.” Anna frowned, wondering whether to go on explaining herself or to let it drop. But Mr. Thornton was clearly interested and she was about to speak when her neighbor on the right, whom she realized suddenly she had neglected, interrupted.
    â€œWhat’s all this about hard work?”
    Dr. Springer, Anna remembered, was a brain surgeon at Massachusetts General. He was very alert, compact, with thin nervous hands which she had admired when they were introduced. “As far as I can see we are all work-aholics these days, and it’s a very bad thing.”
    â€œWhy?” Anna asked. “I can’t imagine not working … work is my joy. It’s what I’m all about. When I can’t sing I’ll commit suicide.” She felt harassed and close to tears.
    â€œCome now, if you lost your voice you’d still go on living, beautiful and alive as you are.”
    â€œI don’t know that I would,” Anna said. “What would you do if you lost your hands, beautiful and alive as they are?”
    â€œI’d—I was going to say I’d devote myself to gardening, but without hands, you’ve got me.”
    â€œYou see.”
    â€œRetirement does not necessarily mean becoming a cripple,” he said a little testily.
    â€œI just can’t imagine life without singing—but you’d be amazed how long singers manage to go on. Lotte Lehmann had a whole new career teaching master classes until she was seventy or more! Of course she was the greatest …” Anna turned now to