Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. His absence was thought by the charitable to be from grief. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. “Go on!” “People talked to you in Paris about us,” she continued, “about Anna the virtuous and Annabel the rake. What’s the name of the happy man?” Gwen owned to “Fortescue. So he shut his eyes.
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