Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. Beautiful is the girl of twelve,—who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. These convulsions occurred when Ann Veronica was about twelve.
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