“Let me get you some water, Annabel. " Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him.
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