Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. Her thoughts took words for themselves. "Even if you are not a principal, you are an accessory. About this conception of ownership he perceived and desired a certain sentimental glamour, he liked everything properly dressed, but it remained ownership. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. The father, granite; the daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the one and heard the other, his amazement indescribable. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. "Choose, Jack. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
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