He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time.
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