” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. ” Another differed. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. You must have figured that out by now. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other.
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