No, don’t interrupt me. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. . So Mrs. “Don’t be a hypocrite. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. He deserves none. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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