Annabel thought, and thought again. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered.
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