F. Your purposes are defeated. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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