” She said. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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