"Not my king's," returned Wood. “Some afternoon. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. "But, however, it may turn out, I disown you. ‘Point it at me. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. ‘No, no, I am convinced your very first theory was right. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed.
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