“Annabel?” he exclaimed. I cannot let you go. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. “I’ve been following you for many years. . ” There was silence between them.
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