His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. ” Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. Her elbows were ready. My name is Annabel, not Anna. ” “You will have no objection to his remaining here?” he asked. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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