“I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. She used to play violin, you know. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. Here's his health likewise.
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