“Annabel,” she said brusquely. ‘Not yet, madame. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. But Jack and his companion were already gone. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. The day had become suddenly overcast. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. Without her, it was lonely. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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