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He walked unsteadily towards the door. 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. The man’s passion was infectious. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. At least I can’t talk to them. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth.
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