"She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp.
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