” Annabel looked intently into her glass. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. She rose to the fire to stoke it. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. I awaken easily. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you.
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