Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother.
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