I waited for her at the back. She dare not risk it. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity.
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