The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Be a good wife to him. "For ever!" said the thief-taker, preparing to follow. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face.
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