It was hard to meet that gaze. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. The tears flowed faster. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. F. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window.
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