That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. "This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. It had been her home for hundreds of years. I hate children. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken.
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