” It was nearly half an hour before they dared ask him the question. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. ‘That’s a loud one. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. He nodded silently, too full for words. White’s surprise as she swung easily down the room, followed by the two young men, she smiled a careless explanation at her. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success.
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