But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier.
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