"I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. “How’s the star?” John’s father asked. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
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