C. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. " "Here!" ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. I’ve got a lot of things to think about. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. ” Anna was thoughtful.
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