Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. “This party must be so boring for you. It just feels 122 right! You know it does! Don’t say no. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. Understand me. Now go. " "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand.
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