The tension was palpable. ‘General, we do not know. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. “Well?” he asked her tersely. Quite ordinary. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her.
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