For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable.
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