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” Annabel looked intently into her glass. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. . He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care.
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