Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty.
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