Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. And experience was slow in coming. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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