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The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. You see, my riddle is solved. He leaned forward to better drink her in. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed.
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