Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. I told you no good would come of it. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. " "For an old bachelor?" "A human old bachelor. ’ He sighed.
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