The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me.
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