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“Four,” Anna decided firmly. I cannot let you go. " "Are you sure of that," inquired Jackson. ‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. ’ Saling coughed. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. 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.
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