On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “I only use the weeniest little dab of rouge,” she declared, “and it is really necessary, because I want to get rid of the ‘pallor effect. I—I hurt myself. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. So equipped, she proposed to set up a separate establishment in the world. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. She was, she guessed, close to the library. "Sit down, and enjoy yourself. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection.
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