Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. ’ ‘Bravo,’ applauded Lucilla, clapping her hands. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. She looked away.
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