E. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. His destination was the New Mint. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. She wanted to be on with the show.
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