They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. 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.
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