She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. That was the only sound he heard. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. Voilà tout. ‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. She used to play violin, you know.
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