“Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. She had but to choose. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was.
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