Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. She did not know Mr. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. His car was there. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. \" She whispered back. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. When first you left your home you had no idea that I was the hidden impulse. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her.
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