” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. " "You were born on the island?" "I believe so. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. We can be married tomorrow in Paris. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you.
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