"You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. The sound of her flying feet brought Gerald leaping for the door. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. And he would express various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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