She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. After that consolations fled. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice.
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