” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. They traveled to distant places, had an apartment in Constantinople and a villa in Paris. She felt her skills make a belated return. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. “You have been very kind to me,” she said. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. She shut the door behind her. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his.
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