Give me your hand. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him.
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