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Then she stood up and looked around the room. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. “I do not even know who you are. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. “No, I am alone,” she answered.
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