“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. ” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. Her voice was weak and flat. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. I don’t feel it. 176 “No, it’s very good. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations.
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