“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. “Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing.
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