It was her past now, not Annabel’s. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Sooner or later she’s going to run away again, and I want Frith to follow her and find out where she’s living. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. She was carefree. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. “Delicious!” she murmured. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose.
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