Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. Shalford says—the accidental conquering the essential. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees.
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