"I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. “Call me Annabel. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. “How will you live?” she appealed. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. " Prudence shrugged.
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