It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. “Okay. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. See paragraph 1. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this. ’ ‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly.
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