She was shifting, moving back. Jack turned away with an aching heart. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. You know I call that positively wicked.
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