How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. “Go on!” she commanded. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. That would be an unkind twist of fate. “Dear John,” she whispered. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. His glance came up again and met hers. " "I'll bring you an armful this afternoon.
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