He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. From me. . org/1/6/2/1/16215/ Produced by Jason Isbell, Ben Beasley and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.
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