“Girls. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. She traced him by his scent. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Nice lady. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. ” A dull flush burned upon his cheeks.
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