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If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. He was asleep. I forget. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy.
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