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In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. “Turn me. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. \" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Luck.
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