I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. She had no place she loved. ’ Then she frowned.
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