“It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. Where I am in error, you can set me right. “It was my sister Anna.
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