And you know all about that shot. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “No. The child fell within a short distance of Darrell, who, hearing the splash, struck out in that direction, and caught it before it sank.
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