Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. The blood temporarily halted to her brain, Michelle slept peacefully again. ‘Why not a French flag?’ ‘Because I don’t believe that fool Pottiswick could tell French from Arabic, even if he heard it as he says he did—which I take leave to doubt. “Much better. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. He—wanted to marry me.
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