Mrs. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. He feared to antagonize that distinguished person. You did not learn that in a convent. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother's infamy. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. " "I am so," replied Thames, who had followed him closely.
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