“I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. “I hope that it has not done any harm. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. But it is that I have a very bad temper, you understand. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. But there was a face pressed to the glass.
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