There he stands. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written.
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