‘Odds were against it. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. But I'm sure it's important. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. ” She nodded. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so.
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