” “How absurd!” Annabel declared. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly.
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