” Annabel laughed softly. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. With this person—who was no other than Mr. ABOUT THE STORY Annabel Pellissier, for reasons of her own, allows Sir John Ferringhall to believe that she is her sister Anna.
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