At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said.
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