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Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. ” He said, uncrossing his arms. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way.
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