The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. ” “It is,” Annabel answered shortly. She gurgled. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. He nodded silently, too full for words.
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