Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. Her desires were not for riches. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend.
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