” Ann Veronica sat over her fire with her father’s note in her hand. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. “Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph.
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