‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald. 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. She entered the kitchen. I want to put myself into your hands. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. It is a big house and there are many rooms in which to hide.
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