Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. He was in a curious state of desperation.
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