“I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. " "Perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but I have others in reserve, not so generally known. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John.
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