“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. You heard her. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain.
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