Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Then he turned with a fierce movement to take her into his arms. ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. “But your sister,” he said.
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