Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. Here we go, thought Gerald. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. Mr. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. But I had to know for sure. ” “It’s so strange to think of you—troubled by such things. During detention she orchestrated Ray Plote's murder.
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