” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. ” “There are some French customs,” he declared, “which are admirable. We leave England to-night. “You are beautiful, Lucy. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. This is a mere boy. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire.
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