The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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