"Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Sheppard, faintly. "Hope to. “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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