"What of her?" cried the knight. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Perhaps I deceived you about it. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. After all, why need one look down. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred.
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