“There is no doubt whatever about that. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. ‘Yes, miss. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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