” “Annabel’s real reason for wishing to leave Paris, the real reason she married Sir John Ferringhall, was because of a very foolish thing which she did. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. There were shadows under his eyes. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. He looked distant, irritated. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Let us be gone. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. ” A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob.
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