Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. He was human. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. 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.
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