He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. There was hope for me then. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. "All's bowman, my covey. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat.
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