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Just as he had arrived at the mouth of the drain, and Jack felt certain he must be discovered, a loud shout was raised from the further end of the field that the fugitive was caught. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.
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