2. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. The doctor missed the expression of terror and dismay that flitted across Spurlock's face. O'Higgins returned to town and made a night of it, nothing very wild, nothing very desperate. Got the tickets? Yes, but then—you said you borrowed?” “I did, too,” said Ann Veronica. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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