” “I promise. I can’t even make myself care. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. ” Annabel shook her head. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. Anna looked at her, startled.
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