” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. Whatever she does is minimized. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. And always they were well satisfied. ‘Yes, I know.
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