What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Drink the toast, Jack. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself.
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