Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. ‘I should never have told you. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. No, never mind about thanking me. Blest with a fond husband, surrounded by every comfort, you have never been assailed by the horrible temptations to which misery has exposed me. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Her blood spurted into his mouth and he drank. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed.
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