“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. She was going through with that, anyhow. Your name. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. Manning.
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