He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. She was, by certain signs, charged with anger, but she saw upon the faces of these two young fools the look of angels and an ineffable kindness breathed upon her withered heart. "What! refuse to see a person who desires to speak with me. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. Still no sound.
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