“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Supposing you take them and read them? You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs.
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