She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. He had been back for two weeks during some pleasant weather in July. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. "Mutual concessions," she added. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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