“I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. ‘I am sure you will. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. The storm burst upon them in its fury. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong.
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