Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park.
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