Explore "Anne of Windy Poplars" by Lucy Maud Montgomery on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Anne betook herself to Elmcroft the next evening, walking through the dream-like landscape of a November fog with a rather sinking sensation pervading her being. It was not exactly a delightful errand. As Dovie had said, of course Franklin Westcott wouldn't kill her. Anne did not fear physical violence. though if all the tales told of him were true, he might throw something at her. Would he gibber with rage? Anne had never seen a man gibbering with rage and she imagined it must be a rather unpleasant sight. But he would probably exercise his noted gift for unpleasant sarcasm, and sarcasm, in man or woman, was the one weapon Anne dreaded. It always hurt her. raised blisters on her soul that smarted for months.
-"Aunt Jamesina used to say, 'Never, if you can help it, be the bringer of ill news," reflected Anne. "She was as wise in that as in everything else. Well, here I am."