"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged.
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