" "I know a man…. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Very well, then. Wood, I forget nothing.
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