“You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. 13 Montague Street. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest.
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