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” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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