" The Wastrel laughed. Annabel entered. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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