” Her father interrupted. It's your eagerness that bothers me. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. He was consumed with desire. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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