It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. Once in England, she made all haste to visit Remenham House. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Annabel, I cannot believe it. ‘Odds were against it.
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