She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round.
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