Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. They struck her as cold and indifferent. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note.
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