Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. I want to give you time to think. Do not slight my warning. It needs cultivating, I think. ” Annabel gave a little gasp. Leastways, not on your own. “Good God!” he exclaimed. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. “I’d run away with you in a heartbeat. There was only one sound—the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and even that said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadow moved. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me.
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