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It melted her heart. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. The key is in my trousers. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. I am your very dutiful niece, aunt, and your most devoted sister, Annabel.
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