‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. “I cannot keep silence any longer. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. 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. For so far she had kept it uncashed.
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