But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. ‘Imbecile. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. . “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs.
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