” “You have not told me yet,” Annabel said, “how it is that you have dared to personate me. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. ‘I do not believe you. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. ” She stopped abruptly, and turned about toward the front door. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat.
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