"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. 235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. ” Annabel clutched her sister’s hands. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter.
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