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Wood the best of wives. Accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me.
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