Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. Now I’d like the rest of your story.
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