A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. I've got to know why. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. It was Annabel’s.
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