But her request was unheeded. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. “They were sent to me by Mr. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. But she veiled her feelings.
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