The inn was a military haunt. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ” “Maybe I should stay away. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint.
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