“Am I hurting you?” She asked. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. ‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ‘But that will do for a start.
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