Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. . ” She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark red carnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which the card was still attached. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. "These writer chaps are queer birds. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world.
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