“Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ’ ‘Yes, she duped me finely,’ agreed Gerald. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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