He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. F. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater.
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