‘She’s gone. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. ’ ‘Lord, man, it’s only a scratch!’ Suddenly Gerald snapped his fingers. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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