I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. Her patience was waning fast. . They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets.
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