All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. . It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.
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