“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. Doesn’t know where he is, thought the captain. She felt herself shaking again.
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