I won’t try. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. ‘Wait for me. " And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy.
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