It was the grand nursery of vice. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. “What can you do?” she asked. The age of this individual could not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully proportioned; and his clear gray eye and open countenance bespoke a frank, generous, and resolute nature. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know. “You may call anytime.
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