Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. This is a good piano. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. McClintock liked it. Caution forced her to speak calmly. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets.
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