Martin scrutinized Lucy more closely, but Lucy could tell that Michelle’s credibility had been damaged as her stifled sobs were heard upstairs. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. "That's odd. His father and mother are gone now.
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