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’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. “I must live, you know. I wish that it worked. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. ” Chapter XVIII ANNABEL AND “ALCIDE” Lady Ferringhall lifted her eyes to the newcomer, and the greeting in them was obviously meant for him alone. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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