Another picture slid across her vision. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. This is retribution. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. Though it’s very kind of you. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away.
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