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” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. " "That is what I wanted to know," said Ruth gravely. ‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. ” She looked at him with curious eyes. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely.
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