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A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Your family has not sullied itself by dabbling in it, at least not 173 from what I know, so now is not the time to begin. He had been quite right to sit down. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp.
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