Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. “I do not think so.
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