She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
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