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“It’s a way of avoiding explanations. The signal of distress was evidently understood. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction.
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