What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. But he has never been near her—never. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.
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