Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. We married, and for a time we were happy. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. Wood,—"he'll never mend. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly.
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