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Burn your palette and your easel. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you. She opened the door with a neon colored key. Mrs. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. " Silence. She wanted his attention, but so did everyone else.
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