" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. ” Annabel looked intently into her glass. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. We were worried. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey. The gentleman didn't communicate his business to me.
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