“When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. Annabel had been here then. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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