While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist.
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