“Annabel!” she exclaimed. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. Her cargo is nearly shipped. That might happen on her birthday—in August. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words.
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