"I could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. She wanted to kiss his feet. Aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever risk, to attend Divine service. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Wood scarcely knew where he was. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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