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Furiously, she dashed his hands away. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. It was Annabel who spoke. Then she moved towards the door. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. I know now that I was mistaken. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Farewell.
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