What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. “I think she would,” she decided. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. And there's your liver. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. I'm not interested in him. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines.
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