“Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. There was no one stirring in the flats. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me.
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