Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. It is you who took my name, not I yours. However, the scheme answered well enough, for Darrell has got off with his own brat. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. “We parted— that night the best of friends. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. She made an abrupt personal appeal.
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