And Mother trusted him. "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly.
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