If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals.
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