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I worship you. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. It was Annabel who spoke. And he had gone away without knowing the truth! "My proa boys are ready; the wind is brisk; and in an hour we shall be beyond all pursuit. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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