Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to his room. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself.
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