She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. “Where?” “To that ball. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Nigel Ennison, Annabel.
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