” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. I’ve been on the watch for you. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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