Her steps slowed. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life.
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