She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Only Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. uh.
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