Neither he nor Gerald chose to attire themselves in full military rig on fashionable occasions such as this. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She felt that with Capes near to her she would be content always to go on loving.
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