He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. 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. ” Dessert was served. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin.
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