“It’s my fault. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. “What has he done? “What shall I do. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. ” Ann Veronica said nothing, and Miss Klegg went on: “He very often IS— most unfair. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.
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