It would be swindling. It seemed to make her sister downcast beyond any precedent. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. As you know my seed is infertile with all women, they are no more than cattle, but it was not so with my Rhea. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her.
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