Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish.
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