It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections.
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