" He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. It was his heart. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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