Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. 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. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. Gerald stayed him. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. She would have to leave very soon.
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