Explore "The Woman in the Alcove" by Anna Katharine Green on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My love for Anson Durand died at sight of that crimson splash or I thought it / did. In this spot of blood on the breast of him to whom I had given my heart I / could read but one word-guilt-heinous guilt, guilt denied and now / brought to light in language that could be seen and read by all men. Why should / I stay in such a presence? Had not the inspector himself advised me to go?
Yes, but another voice bade me remain. Just as I reached the door, Anson Durand / found his voice and I heard, in the full, sweet tones I loved so well: