She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. Its architecture was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of a triumphal entrance to a capital, rather than a dungeon having battlements and hexagonal towers, and being adorned on the western side with a triple range of pilasters of the Tuscan order, amid the intercolumniations of which were niches embellished with statues. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. They seldom arrive on the beach. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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