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” She nodded. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. Miss Mary to the life. ” “Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night.
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