It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. I should like Mr. . “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. “Hi John. She pushed him gently on the chest. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. .
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