It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. It is not for myself I fear. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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