Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Sir John once more looked around him. As if God would not continue to mock him so long as his brain held a human thought! God had given him a pearl without price, and he had misunderstood until this day. " "Sir," said the chief turnkey, indignantly. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight.
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