The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. Give us that—” Ann Veronica came in with a certain disregard of Miss Miniver. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them.
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