“Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. Remember ——” Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. “My God!” he said again. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. "That's odd. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ” She shook her head.
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