“And where are YOU going?” he said. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. “I was really interested in his stuff. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. Easily.
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