“This girl—she’s really a very charming, frank person—had had her imagination fired, so she told me, by a school performance of Romeo and Juliet. If only monsieur le baron had said nothing, or perhaps instead accepted the couple as the Valades and agreed to help them. He uttered a short laugh. You know you do, Annabel. I did not know what God had in mind then. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. You cannot do a murder and expect that you will not be punished. Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle. And she, she in her own person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest.
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