The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. She could think of nothing more to say. The door closed softly upon her. ’ Roding looked struck. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living.
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