" "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. Looking for something, or someone, probably. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. This child at once alarmed and thrilled them. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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