‘Point it at me. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. " There was a brief, breathless pause.
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