She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. ” “For the others,” Annabel said tearfully, “that is well enough. This I know for at the Valade estate it was talked of very much, even that they supposed me there to be the daughter of Suzanne. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. ‘Exactly like my father. If he recovers he may not accuse her. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it.
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