"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I. From none of these could Jack ascertain what had become of Thames, or learn any particulars concerning the family at Dollis Hill, or of his mother. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. "Let it pass.
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