She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. ” Annabel yawned. " The lad made no answer, but left the room.
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