” Brendon hesitated for a moment. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. “Hola, Michelle. She drew it out with shaking fingers. Promise me. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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