Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ” “Why in Heaven’s name should I forget?” he cried. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. “Oh, that. “Bless you, sweetheart.
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