“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. F. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. . Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. . The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. . He had forgiven everybody. .
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