And so she came upon the word Love. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried.
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