Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. "No; but I shall, before he retires to rest. Sheppard's ward, Sir. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. ” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away.
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