Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood. Lucy studied Katy for the rest of the game. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. .
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