“I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. She would not forgive me. Annabel, I was lying. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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