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“Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. Annabel entered. John stared palely. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. But if you have considerable money, you had better leave it in the office safe. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father.
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