“I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. It is very bad. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. You shall have your reward. Oh God! pardon me. Because of the Dance. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. And you have stolen my dagger. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible.
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