She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. The young man had knocked over the siphon. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. As soon as she reached this spot, Wild sprang ashore, and was joined by several persons, —among whom was Quilt Arnold, leading a horse by the bridle,—he hastened down the stairs to meet him. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her.
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