He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. ” “But why didn’t you prohibit once for all the whole thing? How dared she tell you that?” “Out of defiance. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still.
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