She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. His little doll. She crooked her finger. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. "The plot's out!" cried Jack. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. It was not a difficult affair. But it was only six-thirty.
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