It was her past now, not Annabel’s. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. ‘Now let’s have it. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. One OUGHT to want to please her. I'm glad he's come to see me. " "Wear that to-night, then. " "I shall go mad myself if I listen to her longer," said Jack, attempting to rise. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald.
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