‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Give me this picture. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone.
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