She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. “Annabel;” he moaned. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner.
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