” He replied solemnly, looking straight into her eyes. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. . I’m glad the old sore is assuaged.
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