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She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. ” The note of his own voice exasperated him. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. “Annabel;” he moaned. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. She was dressed in a little white frock, with a very long body, and very short sleeves, which looked (from a certain fullness about the hips,) as if it was intended to be worn with a hoop. " The Wastrel advanced.
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