She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. Stanley, to which the two ladies subordinated themselves intelligently. Miss Annabel is her sister. “But you’re wrong. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton.
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