He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. I'll go with you. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. I believed I was strong enough to go on in silence; but I'm human like everybody else.
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