Nigel Ennison, Annabel. " "Don't worry about that. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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