"It's a pump, like an organ. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. . ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. “No! My father.
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