If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. They stopped talking, except to each other. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. Gold-handled, too. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. " "Horror!" cried Jack.
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