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She hated the manor. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. \"Carry your books for you?\" He asked. She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired.
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