He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. The simile started a laugh in his throat. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. Fas du tout. He would go there. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling.
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