She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner.
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