Mr. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. You know what's what. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. It was locked.
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