“Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. I know the Dutch. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail.
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