This is simply a chapter of coincidences. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. "All I want is to be happy!" she said aloud, as if she were asking for something of such ordinary value that God would readily accord it to her because there was so little demand for the commodity. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. " There was another pause. The boy was right. E. I am not prying for my own amusement.
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