I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. It was perfectly legitimate. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Let me take the satchel, sir. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. Bête, she told herself fiercely. The soldiers! They must not find her here. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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