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They were the same. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. And all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love. Heliers. ’ She eyed him. People who would not go. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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