A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “I hope you are going to Carey House. Here goes. ” “A—marriage certificate!” Annabel gasped. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. .
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