” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. “Why?” “I still love you. ” Mike said as he vigorously shook Martin’s hand. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self.
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