Annabel, I cannot believe it. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. ” “I ought to have—all the same. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. ” “I can spare it,” Anna answered suavely.
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