’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. 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. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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