There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. There ends my duty. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. If it is that you need these things, then of course we will go there. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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