Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. His grip twisted her wrist. He whispered in her ear. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps.
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