Mike seemed visibly happier at her remark. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. Fiercely defensive, as usual. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. The Ragged Edge. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Always as black and bitter as gall. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen.
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