"Here I am. I'll go where you like," Laura said, proudly, resenting the imputation of fear. And she began to dress.
Anna waited for her, standing up. Laura proceeded calmly with her toilet. But when she came to put on her frock of white wool, Anna had a mad access of rage, and covered her face with her hands, to shut out the sight. Four hours ago, only four hours ago, in that same frock, Laura had been kissed by Cesare. Her sister seemed to her the living image of treachery.
Laura moved about the room as if she was hunting for something.
"What are you doing?" asked Anna.
"I am looking for something."
And she drew from under a pocket-handkerchief her bunch of white roses.
"Throw those flowers away," cried Anna.
"And why?"
"Throw those flowers away, Laura, Laura."
"No."