He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. Trust you. “Lord!” she said. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. ‘I am sure you will. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. '" "What is that?" she asked. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. '" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay.
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