265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. The lad hesitated. Only of course I must begin something else at once. A riding-habit is all I have seen. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. ‘No doubt accompanied by the latest crim con tales.
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