There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. I'll be with you in a jiffy. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried.
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