“Allow me. He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. “You will have some tea?” she asked. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way.
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