She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. And so, the invasion really is to take place after all; and the Chevalier de Saint George is to land at the Tower with fifty thousand Frenchmen; and the Hanoverian usurper's to be beheaded; and Doctor Sacheverel's to be made a bishop, and we're all to be—eh?" "All in good time," returned Kneebone, putting his finger to his lips; "don't let your imagination run away with you, my charmer. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen.
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