" "Where are the assassins?" cried Sheppard. It doesn’t matter. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. I will tell you this much, because you have been kind. I was resolved to see you. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. She was poor.
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