He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. Wood—and after him came his daughter. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. . . ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while.
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