Let me take the satchel, sir. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. She reflected before answering. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. 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.
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