“My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. ” The maid discreetly withdrew, and Anna stood transfixed, gazing with puzzled frown at her sister. . Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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