She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. She was powerless to move from her chair. ” Annabel laughed softly. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant.
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