On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. It’s one of their worst traits, one of their very worst. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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