But you belong to me—and I want you. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. This, then, was the woman from whom Hoddy would not have accepted a cup of water. Neither of them believed me. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. “Good God!” he exclaimed.
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