“I do not even know who you are. ’ ‘How was it then that Nicholas Charvill was known to have gone to France. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Directly dinner was over Mr. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood.
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