She threw him his car keys. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. “I was sick of the make-believe. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert.
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