It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. He sent me home. .
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