I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. There were two of them.
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