She walked through the walls. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. 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. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. I had a perfect shoal of callers. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern.
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