Hang the wench! Roding was right. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Since the accession of George the First to the throne in the preceding year, every effort had been made by the partisans of the Stuarts to shake the credit of the existing government, and to gain supporters to their cause. The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. She heard the television blaring away. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases.
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