She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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