Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. He had attained the residence by his political ascension to the Duke of Herculis. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. ” She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him.
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