“It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. Capes scored back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her intelligence. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. The woman shrugged her shoulders. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other.
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