My name is Annabel, not Anna. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. No girl with a face like that…. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre. In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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