Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Annabel was in hiding all the time. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. We have that gift. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. ’ He sighed elaborately. "I vent to de New Prish'n, and on wishitin' his shel vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and Jack and Agevorth Besh gone.
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