” She breathed an inner sigh of relief. ” “You have nothing to tell me?” “Nothing!” So Annabel departed with the slightest of farewells, wearing a thick travelling veil, and sitting far back in the corner of a closed carriage. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. The lad looked alarmed. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say.
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