The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Mr. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. It was Annabel’s. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment.
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