Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color.
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