” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. “Amazing. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully.
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