Nigel, you have not forgotten!” “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. Wood's. And you’re as clean as fire.
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