Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ‘I was not born to this.
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