Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. It’s—Mrs. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely.
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