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. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that.
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