“Annabel,” she said brusquely. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. You will be opposite the big entrance in Old Palace Yard.
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