She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. “You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. I came here to beg you not to sign that contract. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig.
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