Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. It both pleased and amused Gerald that Hilary adhered rigidly to protocol before the men, no matter what he might say to his major on other occasions.
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