Her tone was icy. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. You are NOT going to that ball!” Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. “Certainly. “I wonder if it is. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now.
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