” “Alive! In London!” Annabel moaned. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her.
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