. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom. Perhaps marriage hurt. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune.
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