He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. "Set your prisoner free!" returned Wood. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. "Speak plainly.
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