Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. It was Blueskin. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. Meanwhile, Mr. Wood. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. I understand.
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