Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. But you are Annabel. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. .
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