‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the several five-story towers of the pawnshops. “Call me Annabel. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity.
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