It seems Valade visited him that day to present his credentials, and Charvill posted straight off to inform his great-uncle. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The Storm. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire.
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