Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. Adieu! my charmer. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything.
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