She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. But nothing followed to indicate that the liquid had stimulated the heart. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. ’ ‘I have no game.
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