Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. If only we are not divided.
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