KIPPS
fensively, to its reluctantly revealed recesses, but Ann's sense of privacy was strong and her manner, under drawing out and encouragement, sometimes even alarming. . . .
So the poor old lady went upstairs again.
§ 5
The basement door opened and Kipps came into the kitchen. He was flushed and panting.
He struggled for speech.
"'Ere," he said, and held out two half sixpences.
Ann stood behind the kitchen table—face pale and eyes round, and now—and it simplified Kipps very much—he could see she had indeed been crying.
"Well?" she said.
"Don't you see?"
Ann moved her head slightly.
"I kep' it all these years."
"You kep' it too long."
His mouth closed and his flush died away. He looked at her. The amulet, it seemed, had failed to work.
"Ann!" he said.
"Well?"
"Ann."
The conversation still hung fire.
"Ann," he said, made a movement with his hands that suggested appeal, and advanced a step.
Ann shook her head more definitely, and became defensive.
"Look here, Ann," said Kipps. “I been a fool."
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