“Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. ” She shook her head gently. But I'll never part with your irons. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t.
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