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She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. . ” “I cannot let you go on,” Ennison interrupted. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up.
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