“Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. A wrathful God was watching him. Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering.
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