“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig. It could not be a legal marriage. So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. She was ushered into the back of the squad car. ‘Certainly you may have me under guard.
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