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The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. “They would spoil every chance. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. I have never spoken of these things to any human being. " "Unconsciously, perhaps," replied Thames.
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