"I'll have to set you right on that, too. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. I may as well think.
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