What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. ’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine.
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