” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room.
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