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. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard.
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