“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. Think, ma’am. She tried to be casual. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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