She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. 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. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go.
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