It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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