She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. It is useless to talk. Now lend me your own hand. "Don't fire," cried the latter.
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