“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. Just one thing more. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. The will to live had returned. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. "But first let us secure Sheppard. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. You have betrayed me. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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