Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Jackson and Mr. I’m sorry.
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