She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine. He's coming. She fidgeted and looked away. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. It pained Lucy to see Mike eating so sparely. CHAPTER XI.
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