Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. . He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. “Of course you don’t. Your purposes are defeated.
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