” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. We shall become a prey to the Philistines, and must turn honest in self-defence. My name is Annabel, not Anna. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter.
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