Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. "I was going to die, Hoddy!" she whispered. He roused curiosities. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. My name is Annabel, not Anna.
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