"At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips.
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