Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash.
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