It was Annabel who caught at the paper. The only safe place for him is at sea; and if he had kept to the sea, I shouldn't have found him so easily. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely.
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