‘Typical. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. She would not forgive me.
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