She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. Taber.
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