What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. I can’t help it. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. “Please hurry. Earles?” he inquired. Stanley. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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