“Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. “What are your objections?” she said. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. "For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped.
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