Melusine made no reply. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Thames, look the door. ” “Of course you’re converted?” she said.
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