“Well,” she said, “good-night, father. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Nobody toys with me. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered.
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