Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. 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. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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