“Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself.
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