Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. "She is my lawful wife. ” She sat very still. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. I’m glad you could come.
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