The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "I never told anybody," she went on. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. Stanley, to which the two ladies subordinated themselves intelligently. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me.
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