"I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. ‘I don’t know that I dare. I am yours for the making over. I loathe this room. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. "Fold it … under the pillow.
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