Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. After the dance, they went to a party. A brief description will suffice for them. “Nothing. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully.
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