‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. You can, too, if you wish. Norris, she revived a little. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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