" "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Her thought spoke aloud. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s face. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. " He laughed and pushed back his chair.
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