"You're on," said O'Higgins. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. She left for good after he fell asleep. But, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way. I didn’t understand.
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