Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. " "You are a party concerned. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ’ The girl held out her hands. Like stealing. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman.
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