As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. I love you—with all my heart and soul. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. And your great-niece. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks. ruin you. ” “Straight?” “Not a bit of it! He’s been out after eight per cent. Turning now, and running down the terrace. ” “Personally,” he went on, “I must confess to a great disappointment.
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