She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Perhaps marriage hurt. “To-night we are as we have always been. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. I’ll have it out with him.
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