Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. ‘Now let’s have it. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire.
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