Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. (“No, no. “My only answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at the poster. Annabel, I was lying.
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