” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator Restaurant. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. It was the moment for smiles. "It is never too late. If this idiotic marriage is binding then I will be her friend. Get on with it, then. 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.
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