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Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure. I know you’re young but I think I, no, I know that I love you. She could even think of what had happened. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station.
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