Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. “But your hair,” he gasped. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared.
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