‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. “Beasts!” But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision. You had better go to bed. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished.
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