But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. “Nigel, don’t you understand. If so I shall have to leave. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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