A slow anger burned in the man. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. “Then why go out with him, Michelle? Why belabor yourself?” Lucy questioned. A smile flickered upon her lips as she glanced towards Brendon, who was very serious indeed. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being.
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