“No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. 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. I don’t care if you’re not a virgin, that’s not how I really am. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts.
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