She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Wild," edged in Quilt. ” Annabel rose to her feet. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. It is she that I must see. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon.
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