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All the village was assembled in the churchyard. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. . That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. Spurling: "I blush for you, Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four in the same way, and know what it is.
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