CHAPTER XII. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. He leaned forward to better drink her in. “I wish I didn’t swear. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. Teddy was the hatless young man who had turned Ann Veronica aside from the Avenue two days before.
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