Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. ’ She sighed relief to see a faint grin as he ventured to raise his head. The practice has been common for thousands of years.
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