Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. ” “Who seduced whom?” He asked impetuously. “Some afternoon. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead.
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