Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows.
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