97 “For what, kiddo?” Larry turned his head slightly to one side. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Section 1. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way.
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