Not like my father. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. For a long time neither spoke again. She told you —the truth. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. Teacher. Only a son’s another story. ‘I am not French in the least, bête. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating.
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