175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. But I will not believe you. And now her father said she must not go. ” She assented gently. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. His heart hammered in his chest. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. No, I thank you. I came in by the vestry, and we will go out that way again. To my loving husband Rodney, who is truly a dream come true. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you. I love. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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