It was an impulse. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks.
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