If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. " With this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and stepped forward more boldly. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation.
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