She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Don't strip me quite. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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