Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. “And you?” “Same thing. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on.
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