There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Nigel Ennison was he. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. Sheppard. I don’t care if you’re not a virgin, that’s not how I really am.
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