The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed.
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