I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. Old Bedlam. My foster mother, Sheila, insists that I go to St. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play for you. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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