“Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters.
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