She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. The phone did not ring. "You have forgotten your knife, Mr. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. I haven’t, anyhow. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over his chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had seen better days.
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