Promise me one thing before I leave you. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. “Bless you, sweetheart. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. I have it about me. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique.
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