’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. It was still possible the child might be in safety. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. 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. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. "And now, to your own concerns. I believe I have always been in love with you. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat.
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