It was Annabel’s. " "That kind of talk makes you sound like a white man. No doubt there’s some little mistake. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness.
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