Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end.
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