It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. Pray, walk in.
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