“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. ” “I didn’t understand—your idea of making love. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. You do not believe me.
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