A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. ” Anna shivered a little. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion.
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