"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. “Here, dis is for you. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition.
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