Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
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