He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. "I'm sorry," she said. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt.
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