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Updated: July 1, 2025
Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, took Anna's hand into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh of content. He was introduced to Brendon, and a chair was brought by an attentive waiter. He declined supper, but took wine. "Have you dropped from the skies?" Sydney asked wonderingly. "It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over."
"I had some unexpected business," Courtlaw answered shortly. "And how did you find us here?" "I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. Mrs. White told me where to find you." He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. He talked very little and rather absently.
"I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. Where can we sit down and talk?" He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. "Let me introduce my friend to you," Courtlaw said. "Arthur, this is Miss Pellissier Mr. Brendon. Brendon and I are great chums," he went on nervously. "We are clerks in the same bank.
"Hill gradually recovering consciousness. Doctor says depositions to-night. Recovery impossible. He looked at her gravely. "I think," he said, "that some one ought to warn her." "It is Number 8, Cavendish Square," she answered simply. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel's long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests.
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