The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. I'm burning up. "Ye-ah," said O'Higgins, jovially.
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