F. Here we go, thought Gerald. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. ” Just then the man’s eyes opened. Mrs. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. You know you do, Annabel. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. You called yourself a murderess.
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