“You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. ” “But what are you going to do—where are you going to live?” Annabel asked. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. Dinner was quite uneventful. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft.
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