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“You don’t want to go?” “No. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. All the best novels have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please men. ” Rhea whispered. Probably something he had eaten. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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