The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. And if I don’t, I go mad. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly.
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