The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. She could no longer wait. I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him.
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