You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. She looked at him curiously. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour.
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