Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. . Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild.
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