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One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Anna found herself next Sydney Courtlaw, with his friend close at hand. . Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin.
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