“No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. "I am very wicked," she said. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips.
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