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“What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. It was now a quarter past twelve. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. “No! My father. " "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife.
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