Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. “I was already aware of the fact. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. Sheppard, distractedly. Love anywhere. Would to God I had. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. His frowning gaze came back to her.
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