He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. Shari was snoring, the pill having worked its magic. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face.
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