Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. " But seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little aside, and folded his arms, muttering, "This whim will soon be over.
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