“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow.
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