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. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. "If you loiter in this way, old Wood will catch us.
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