Lucy followed her. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. . 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. ‘As Madame Valade, you will be an émigré, not a nun. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them.
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