“It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. Give me your hand. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. . Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words.
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