She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. ” Annabel rose to her feet. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband.
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