Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. “John’s here. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture.
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