Courtlaw found the study in Cariolus’ studio. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address.
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