" There was a pause. ‘Very well, never mind. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. The doctor and another man were by his bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials which had evidently been used close at hand. " "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. He flipped the television on.
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