She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. "Good bye!" cried Mrs. “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. I had no idea!” She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the table. She bounced onto her bottom.
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