He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She repeated this breathlessly. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. Of course. ‘Well?’ she said. It’s—it’s a social difference. So am I. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp.
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