Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. Mr. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. There was a case, or something, some years ago.
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