He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. ’ ‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira. You Ann Veronica?” “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” “Yes.
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