She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. “Bother it all!” she swore. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different.
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