There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. John, he was between me and the door. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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