“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his.
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