She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see.
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