In a moment he was beside her. Anna raised her eyes. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. If they become bad it is through inclination, not necessity. There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added.
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