Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. ” “Thousands of women have married merely for freedom,” said Miss Miniver. A remittance man. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic.
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