‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Wood, furiously. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. I’m not that sort I quite agree. I shouldn't care to have attention constantly drawn to us. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head.
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