When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. His eyes were bright with the hunt. "I don't know; I really don't know. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “Of course, I remember now. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque.
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