“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. Manning. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. Before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. There would be no mercy in this man. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth.
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