It was Annabel’s. Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. I can't bear it. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. Never be downhearted.
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