"With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. Sheppard," roared Blueskin, who anticipated some fun. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. He was astonished. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. ’ ‘Damn you, answer me!’ Her eyes flashed. Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls. The boy was right.
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