She asked no further questions for the moment. 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. Fast asleep, he is. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. That person advanced towards him. Luck. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes.
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