A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. I don’t see what you can have to say. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. It was cheating, pitiful cheating.
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