“I’d never have a day of peace again, John. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. She held out both her hands. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. Spurling in alarm. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that.
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