He knew that Anne loved him, and always would love him.

But he also knew that every vestige of love and respect for her had gone out of his heart long ago and that he now felt only the bitterness of disillusionment so far as she was concerned.

He was not afraid of her.

She had lost all power to move a single drop of blood in his veins.

But he was afraid _for_ her.
She came downstairs at nine o'clock.