Sir John stood upon the threshold. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit.
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