Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. “Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. I'll keep it for your sake. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall.
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