“Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. The Night-Cellar. ’ ‘Don’t be a little fool,’ Gerald snapped irritably. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. I'll have to put some pep into the game— American pep. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble.
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