It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. " Mr. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time.
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