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A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. His car, a black Alfa Romeo, waited at the end of the subdivision. “You pushed the wheel from my hand. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs.
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