“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. We are alone and we can say and do what we please.
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