The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. Annabel was in hiding all the time. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. She would write to Gerald.
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