The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. CHAPTER XXIX. We're lost. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen.
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