This she would not endure. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn.
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