"I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. "I shan't sleep a wink while Jack Sheppard's in the house. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his. 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. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park.
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