” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. A good deal of the food will be in tins. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. It was the moment for smiles. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. You understand.
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