“Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. " Sir Rowland's brow darkened. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size.
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