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” She murmured. Try something. 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. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. And she defies me.
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