Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. " "Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like those of a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand.
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