“If you attempted such a thing it would be in order that I should smack you hard with the palm of my hand upon the cheek. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. “If they matter to you, they matter. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees.
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