" CHAPTER XVIII. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. They thought that he was dead at first, and they took him to the hospital. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded.
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