Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. I’d need to be out of my senses. ” With a swift movement she gained the bell and rang it. ” “He was probably right,” she declared. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. 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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