“But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. It’s Providence. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. It jars with all my ideas. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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