“I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. ” “Mr. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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