“I wish he had,” she said. He just wants to get laid. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. 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. She saw his eyes glaze over. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.
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