“Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Wood. “Believe me, I know. I’m damaged goods. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. “Call me Annabel. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for. “Thanks, so do you. What are you going to tell me?" "Nothing. Silence! Then Anna clutched her companion’s arm.
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