How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. And then—this sudden thrust. He declined supper, but took wine. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. She fled. “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting.
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