It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. He had but to give his orders. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone.
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