The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. She was definitely following him. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. . “Ever yours, “ANNABEL. Wood's. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom.
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