The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. “Hold on, she’s right here. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. And so sudden and well-directed was the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist. I’m sorry.
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