” “May I ask,” Anna said softly, “what you presume to have been the nature of my errand here this evening?” Sir John pointed to Annabel, who was as yet utterly limp. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. It was hard to resist. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ‘And certainly I wish that Joan will come with us.
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