“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. 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. My garden-close would be a better thing than that.
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