His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “Intolerable idiots!. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide.
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