“Twenty-two. You can think all round me. Giles's was lined with spectators. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. . . It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother.
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