Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. That would be an unkind twist of fate. "Vot are you?" "Practising patience," growled Abraham. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets.
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