“Call me Annabel. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. "By all means," rejoined Quilt. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things.
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