‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. It was impossible. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her.
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