Spurlock halted in his tracks. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. White assented. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Take your pick, Mrs. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. . She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone.
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