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“My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. I love him as a brother. Do sit down, dear boy. Mrs. B. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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