She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Ought she to walk into some of these places and tell them what she could do? She hesitated at the window of a shipping-office in Cockspur Street and at the Army and Navy Stores, but decided that perhaps there would be some special and customary hour, and that it would be better for her to find this out before she made her attempt. Captain Hilary Roding and his inamorata, Miss Lucilla Froxfield.
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