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Blue Book girl
Answer for the clue "Blue Book girl ", 3 letters:
deb
Alternative clues for the word deb
Usage examples of deb.
In the first two hours after their escape they had made good progress on the way to London, un pursued Every now and then, Deb had led into a covert and sat Cec down on a log or stone, and pushed herself through the thickest to observe the road and listen.
Except for the coquelicot ribbons and that towering headdress, she was again his own dear Deb, and he spent a blissful half-hour, walking with her down the many paths of the gardens, and telling her how much he loved her.
Later that same day, Deb was still so indignant about the cavalier treatment she had received at the hands of her injured duelist that while watching the minuets at the Assembly Room ball she was seen to openly scowl, a most unladylike expression opinioned the sticklers of Bath society, but to be excused in a Cavendish heiress worth not a guinea less than fifty thousand pounds.
Immediately, Deb stepped into the light without giving her wounded duelist a response and met Robert Thesiger halfway, eager that he should not find her conversing with a stranger in the shadows.
Deb slowly turned from the window and came face to face with her injured duelist, dressed for riding in thigh tight buff breeches, dark blue riding frockcoat with embroidered cuffs and highly polished jockey boots.
Deb interrupted, not looking at her injured duelist for he was smiling at her in that way that made her feel ridiculously happy.
Deb prodded gently, an eye on her injured duelist who was frowning, paused in mid-slice with knife and apple.
Deb, but with a quick look at Martin who had turned to give Fibber directions for the disposal of the bags and trunks and to see that a bath was drawn for the Marchioness.
He kissed her hand and left her to Martin, while Fibber followed him to the dining room, Martin taking the Marchioness up to the suite of rooms she had occupied the first night of her marriage, and with apologies for not being able to provide her with a female attendant, but as Deb pointed out, she had not had the benefit of her maid for two months now, save for a girl from the local village coming each day to help her with her hair and her dress, that she was quite used to doing most things for herself.
Early next morning, Fibber directed Deb to the terrace where Martin sat with his morning coffee perusing a London newssheet.
She wetted and she fanned, turn and turn about with Deb, the livelong day, without freshening the dead air that soaked the house and seemed to soak the world.
Left Social Democrats of Sweden, the Revolutionary Social Democracy of Switzerland and Italy, the followers of Maclean in England, of Debs in America, of Loriot in France.
Sergeant Stephen Odum, Sergeant Michael Holland, police officer Joe Anderson, and to fellow writers, Susan Domingos, Elaine Avila, David Wimsett, Valerie Perry, Deb Cooksey, Diane Holt, Barbara Mchugh, Eric Roher, Marilyn Day, Heather King, John Meeker, Leon Tsao, Paul Diebels, Carl Gonser, Stephen Linsley, Annagret Ogden, Donna Gillespie, Donal Brown, Bruce Hartford, Bob Hunt, Brad Newsham and Leigh Anne Varney.
It was Monkey, and Frenchie climbed from his Stude, pulling at his chinos, wanting to look cool for the debs clustered around the many cars in the field.
Here was the man in the pictures we had found on the webcam, the man both Deb and I had thought might very well be me.